Begin Again
by mdime
Summary: The rest of Sheppard and O'Neill's conversation on the flight back to McMurdo.


**Title: **Begin Again

**Rating: **PG

**Category: **drama

**Spoilers: **set during _Rising_, so...

**Summary: **The rest of Sheppard and O'Neill's conversation on the way back to McMurdo.

**Archive: **Ask first.

**Disclaimer: **If you had yourself a quantum mirror, perhaps you'd find a universe where SG:A belonged to me...alas, this one isn't it.

**Author's Note: **The beginning dialogue is pulled directly from _Rising_. The rest of the text is entirely my own.

"_This isn't a long trip, so I'll be as succinct as possible."_

"_Well, that's pretty succinct."_

"_Thank you."_

"_I told Dr. Weir that, you know, I'd think about it."_

"_And? So? Well? What?"_

"_With all due respect, sir, we were just attacked by an alien missile. Then I found out I have some mutant gene. Then there's this Stargate thing, and these expeditions to other galaxies..."_

"_You know, this isn't about you, Sheppard. It's a lot bigger than that."_

"_Right now, at this very second, whether I decide to go on this mission or not seems to be about me."_

"_Let me ask you something. Why'd you become a pilot?"_

"_I think people who don't want to fly are crazy."_

"_And I think people who don't want to go through the Stargate are equally as whacked. Now, if you can't give me an answer by the time we reach McMurdo, I don't even want you."_

He wouldn't even want him, and that was a comfort, it made things easier, except in all the ways it didn't. He had a time limit, a reasonable goal: all he had to do was not say yes during the half hour or so it would take them to get back to McMurdo and he was free.

But of course, he didn't really believe that that would be the end of it. For one thing, he actually liked O'Neill, from their conversation on the flight over before his life went all _Twilight Zone _or _Star Trek_ or whatever had actually happened, and the thought of disappointing the man grated against his nerves and his upbringing. For another, he'd gathered that while the General was the man to go through, it was Dr. Weir who was in charge of Atlantis and she surely would take more convincing than a simple "no" – or even an emphatic "_Hell_ no." She'd want _reasons_...

As if being suddenly and unwillingly dropped into the middle of all this wasn't reason enough.

O'Neill was sitting quietly beside him, and John couldn't tell if that was his way of kindly giving him time to think or of viciously letting him stew in his own juices until he couldn't take it anymore and started asking any of the million questions on his mind. He might not know O'Neill well, but he knew enough to recognize that the General would not be the one to break the silence – no matter how long he waited, he'd always be the first to break.

John sighed and turned his attention the barren beauty of Antarctica, stretched out before him, slipping by beneath him...pure, untouched white. It was like the seemingly endless stretches of rough-hewn desert he'd known so well, and yet nothing like them at all. He hadn't been lying, he did like it here, but when he forced himself to be honest he knew his reasons were mostly selfish.

He knew exactly what agreeing to this expedition would mean, and he suspected that O'Neill knew it, too. He just wanted the man to admit it.

"General, look to your two o'clock, just over the mountain peaks of the far range as we crest..." And he had to trail off, as he said it. The sight left him breathless every time, especially at this time of day – who couldn't help but be awed by it?

"Impressive."

"So then how is it that this is one of your least favorite continents?"

"Almost died here, the first time. We won't even get into the next."

"Well, I suppose that would do it, sir, but I'm of the opinion that several other continents can make that claim too."

That earned him a snort, though of amusement or disbelief – at his impudence, if nothing else – or some other emotion he could not tell. Not receiving the almost-expected verbal rebuff, he soldiered on. "Probably a number of planets, as well, from what I hear."

"From what you hear? You've had security clearance for all of eight hours, Major, how much gossip could you possibly have heard between the control chair, the briefings, and the being used as a combination skeleton key and on/off switch?"

John couldn't help but smile at that, because the scientists – especially Dr. McKay – had looked at him like he was some new toy sent especially for them. And yeah, okay, it was kind of neat to watch the gizmos light up at his touch, to spill their secrets with a _thought_...

But still. "You're offering me a one-way ticket to another _galaxy. _Sir."

"That's not what scares you, Sheppard."

"I'm not scared, I...look, I'm barely convinced this is even _real_, that I'm not going to wake up with a hangover or all of you are going to jump out and say 'gotcha!' or..."

He really had no idea what to say, other than what he'd already said. An Ancient gene – not just ancient but _Ancient_ – as in belonging to the race of alien beings who'd invented the Stargate and the city of Atlantis, and who knew what else, while they traipsed around the universe. There was so much to the story he didn't know yet, and he was torn between the tangled mass of feelings he couldn't quite identify and the instinctual panic which told him to forget about these impossible things which apparently existed in his world, existed in _him_.

Having run out of new words, John retreated again, repeating softly, "I like it here."

"The expedition won't be like any tour of duty you've had, Major. It won't even be like any of the thousand and one times we've been through the Stargate."

If that was reassurance, O'Neill was failing spectacularly. Wisely, John held his tongue and waited for the General to continue, though he couldn't help but think he knew where this was going.

"There are hundreds of ways this could go down, which I'm sure will mean some never-ending strategic planning meetings from Hell in my future, but whatever's on the other side there will be a bunch of civilian scientists, some marines, and you."

"Sir..."

"You like it here because no one expects anything of you, and no one needs anything, not like they needed you before. There's no failure, and no success, and no feeling or emotion or anything at all but the perfect joy of flying. I get that, Sheppard, truly, and yeah, that might have been what you needed at first, but now you've got this, and I won't let you hide from it."

"Thought you were giving up on me in a few minutes, sir."

"Seriously, how have you not had this attitude ironed out of you yet?"

He would have been concerned, but the tone of the General's voice expressed more amusement than admonition. He could practically _see_ the eye-roll. Yeah, he and O'Neill would probably get along great...if they weren't going to be in different galaxies, or at least on different continents. Still, his conscience compelled him to reply with the requisite, "Sorry, sir."

"If you're going to make this about them, then you at least need to acknowledge the fact that you being there might make the difference. Some of them can work the technology, but not like you, and you have to know they'll need it."

John didn't know what to say to that, because he recognized it as truth just as surely as the General did.

O'Neill heaved a sigh, as if debating whether his next argument would be worth the effort. After a minute, he continued. "You already care what happens to them, so don't go thinking saying no will absolve you of anything or spare your feelings or whatever excuses you're telling yourself. Going through the Stargate with them is going to break your heart. I know, I speak from experience...but it will also rebuild it, better. Or maybe truer. I'm not the wordsmith of the SGC, but the point is they need you, Sheppard, and not just for your genes. And you need them, even if you don't know it yet."

John had always recognized what he was hiding from and for, and though the General hadn't said a word to that effect, he knew O'Neill had been in that same place, once. He felt like he'd been punched in the gut, because General O'Neill _had_ known his fear, had known _exactly_, and damn it all he'd _liked_ it here. The worst of it, John realized, was that he did know already...he needed them, because he couldn't hide away alone any more. He'd been lonely without realizing it, he'd had _no idea_, not until he'd sat in that chair and connected to the technology and the people on the base and the city galaxies away and _felt_...

It hummed through his veins, even now.

John knew his answer.

There was nothing to be done, really. He'd never even had a choice. He was going to step through the Stargate, traverse galaxies – and be given a home, family, love...all the things he thought he'd lost, thought himself unworthy of, thought he could ignore, could freeze out.

He could feel the city, waiting. Atlantis...

He was going to find Atlantis.


End file.
